Adieu, farewell earth's blisse, This world uncertain is, Fond are lifes lustfull joyes, Death proves them all but toyes. None from his darts can flye, I am sick I must die-- Lord have mercy on us. Rich men, trust not in wealth, Gold cannot buy you health; Physic himself must fade. All things to end are made. The plague full swift goes by; I am sick, I must die-- Lord have mercy on us. Beauty is but a flower, Which wrinkles will devour, Brightness falls from the air, Queens have died young and fair, Dust hath closed Helen's eye. I am sick, I must die-- Lord have mercy on us. Strength stoops unto the grave, Worms feed on Hector brave Swords [may not]1 fight with fate Earth still holds ope her gate; Come, come! the bells do cry; I am sick, I must die-- Lord have mercy on us. Haste therefore each degree, To welcome destiny: Heav'n is our heritage, Earth but a player's stage, Mount we unto the sky. I am sick, I must die-- Lord have mercy on us.
Tenebrae
Song Cycle by Richard Rodney Bennett (1936 - 2012)
1. Adieu, farewell earth's blisse  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by Thomas Nashe (1567 - 1601), "A Litany in Time of Plague", written 1593, appears in Summer's Last Will and Testament, first published 1600
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View original text (without footnotes)1 Rowland: "cannot"
Researcher for this page: Ahmed E. Ismail
2. Like to the falling of a star  [sung text checked 1 time]
Like to the falling of a star, Or [as the flights]1 of eagles are; Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, Or silver drops of morning dew; Or like a wind that chafes the flood, Or bubbles which on water stood: Even such is man, whose borrowed [light]2 Is straight call'd in, and paid to night. The wind blows out, the bubble dies; The spring entombed in autumn lies. The dew dries up, the star is shot; The flight is past and man forgot.
Authorship:
- by Henry King (1592 - 1669), first published 1664
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Ainsi est la vie", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Note: author given as "Harry King" in the Bennett score.
1 Bennett: "like the flight"
2 Bennett: "plight"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
3. Hey nonny no!  [sung text checked 1 time]
Hey nonny no! Men are fools that wish to die. Is't not fine to dance and sing When the bells of death do ring? Is't not fine to swim in wine, And turn upon the toe And sing Hey nonny no, while the winds blow and the seas flow? Hey nonny no! Hey nonny no!
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]4. Written on the eve of execution  [sung text checked 1 time]
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, My crop of corn is but a field of tares, And all my good is but vain hope of gain; My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun; And now I live, and now my life is done. [My tale was heard, and yet it was not told; My fruit is fallen and yet my leaves are green; My youth is spent and yet I am not old; I saw the world and yet I was not seen; My thread is cut, and yet it was not spun; And now I live, and now my life is done.]1 I sought my death and found it in the womb, I looked for life and saw it was a shade, I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb, And now I die and now I was but made; My glass is full, and now my glass is run; And now I live, and yet my life is done.
Authorship:
- by Chidiock Tichbourne (1558? - 1586), "On the Eve of His Execution", subtitle: "Written the night before he was beheaded", written 1586
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According to Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age, ed. by A. H. Bullen, London, John C. Nimmo, 1887, page 80, Mundy replaces the second stanza with the following:The Spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung! The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green! My youth is gone, and yet I am but young! I saw the World and yet I was not seen! My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun! And now I live, and now my life is done.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
5. Death be not proud  [sung text checked 1 time]
Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadfull, for thou art not soe, For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor [yet canst thou]1 kill mee. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee, much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do goe, Rest of their bones, and souls deliverie. Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sickness dwell, And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well And better than thy stroake; why swell'st thou then? One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Authorship:
- by John Donne (1572 - 1631), no title, appears in Holy Sonnets, no. 10
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Bertram Kottmann) , "Sonett über den Tod", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Daniel Johannsen) , copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Richard Flatter) , "Sonett an den Tod", appears in Die Fähre, Englische Lyrik aus fünf Jahrhunderten, first published 1936
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Non esser fiera, Morte", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
1 Bennett: "nor canst thou yet"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]